The Dream
by Femme Bono
Summary: Lucius is moved in a rare moment of compassion to do the unthinkable; his world takes an abrupt turn, as does the woman he saves. Warnings: implied N/C, violence, some UST, and lotsa lemons with a splash of lime.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: I start this with an apology. I have not been as rabid on finishing my other stories and have been struck blind and dumb with writer's block, since I literally gained a new ship _overnight_. I blame Jason Isaacs and my sub-conscious and hope that in writing this down I can get rid of it and focus on the three that should be in the forefront of my mind--it would also help if I could stop reading Lucius-centric stories so I can get comfortably back to Snape where I thought I belonged. [So stop writing such good stories, guys!]_

_That said, I am treating this as a one shot (of sorts) because thanks to every Muse for leaving me hanging, I have no clear-cut outline for where it can go... I hate that. And now so much for not prefacing my work..._

**The Dream**

Leda Hersilie woke to a nightmare. Wracked as she was with chills and fever, her breath came out in rattling gasps in the cold night air. Her first instinct was that she had sleep-walked out of her home and into a blitzkrieg. Screams ripped all around her, her neighbors' houses were alight with crackling flames as she stumbled around barefoot, clad in a simple chemise. The scrap of cotton she had gone to sleep in did nothing to stanch the biting cold wind of a January night, nor did her tiny hands rubbing unconsciously over her upper arms as she struggled to make sense of the scene that played out down her block. Numbly she tripped her way down Wisteria Walk while families hunched together under a copse of trees and masked men in robes wandered this way and that with what looked like wands. One of them she was shocked to discover was female, as she unleashed a hideously maniacal laugh. Leda stopped aghast as still another of the men guided her next-door neighbor high into the air, her terror-stricken features awash in a strange iridescent light. One of the disguised men, too, had lost his robe and hood as he stood physically struggling with another man who lived a street over on Privet Drive. Framing the ghoulish skeletal mask was a shock of pale hair that reflected the moonlight.

"I don't want to kill you, you ignorant mudblood," he was saying, as he pressed the point of what she now knew was a wand to the man's throat, "but if you do not tell me their whereabouts, you leave me no choice."

The man (Wilkes, was his name?) promptly lost control of his bladder at that point as he cried openly. "Please, sir, don't kill me! I've no idea where they went. One day they was here and the next morning, nothing. Nobody knows a thing. They was gone before even that mad nephew of theirs had gone. He disappeared yesterday... we thought about phoning the police, but--"

"Silence," the pale one hissed, barely audible, "we already know of _him_. You are _sure_ you know nothing of the family's whereabouts?"

"Yes," the man sobbed. With a flash of green light from the wand, the man went limp, his eyes staring unfixed.

At that moment, Leda found herself literally wrenched away from the scene to find herself face-to-face with another skeletal mask, gleaming in the light of the moon.

"Shapely one, this," a male voice issued from behind it. He perfunctorily squeezed one of her breasts before trailing a gloved hand down her side to the curve of her hip. As he did so, a low hum of approval rolled deep from his belly.

"Very well then Rowle, line her up with the others," commanded another one, stopping close by as he set another house to explode from within--as if a bomb had been set off behind its closed doors. "We're taking a few of them back to headquarters. The games must continue after all, otherwise it'll be a completely wasted trip."

With that she was shoved roughly ahead, even as her body wracked with coughs she had been trying for a week to fight off. She comforted herself with the vague knowledge that now there seemed to be little point in trying to get herself well. It was almost good that she had put off going to the doctor; in all likelihood, if they did not kill her soon, her illness might just grant her a reprieve from more of their ministrations. As her feet stumbled over the rough pavement, she was pushed toward a line of frightened shivering women. One of them, Tilde Sparks, was barely sixteen years-old and weeping openly. Finally, this image alone breached the limits of Leda's shocked awareness. She felt her knees buckle even as she saw the blonde one approach the line at the front and begin to peruse the woman as one might chattel. And indeed now, that is exactly what they were.

Leda stayed kneeling on the ground feeling every bit the same as the brittle, frost-covered grass under her legs. She doubled over completely when another fit of coughing shook her core, leaving her weak as a newborn babe. She lay her forehead on the ground, quietly rasping as her throat screamed and her back trembled as if with aftershocks. As they slowly subsided, Leda lifted her face mere inches off the ground, her breath catching again as she realized how close she was to the tips of a pair of highly shined boots. She froze in place as she heard their owner crouch down beside her. After a moment, she braved a glance at the man. Scarcely daring to breath, she gazed into a set of clear blue eyes beneath the mask as his gaze swept over her face and down her body.

He had barely a glimpse of long, auburn hair framing a heart-shaped creamy face set with the deepest brown eyes before she turned abruptly, instinctive manners leading her to cough feverishly in the other direction. What peculiar compunction seized him, he did not know. But he briefly lifted the curtain of her hair as she gasped for breath, before he hazarded a guarded glance around at the chaos in this once peaceful suburb. Convinced that no one was watching, he went on pure instinct as he stripped himself of his shirt and draped it around her shoulders, gathering her into his chest.

At this, Leda was certain her heart stopped in those fractured seconds as she struggled for calm. She knew she stiffened unconsciously even as her vision cleared from the haze of her latest fit. She felt strong arms clamped around her, and saw only a patch of well-defined male chest under her clammy hand, with a smattering of pale blond curls that tickled her nose. Before she could adjust to the strange sensation, she felt her entire being almost cave in on itself with a queasy jerk and a quiet pop. As her system righted itself, the arms still around her as he laid her gently against a freezing iron gate, rubbing her arms. She looked up once more into the azure eyes before he turned from her, aiming his wand at the gates. With a simple flick, a silvery rodent (a mongoose?) erupted from the point and glided swiftly, silently up a large hill to a ruined castle. Her system fully overloaded with the terrors and pain that now wracked her body and mind, she lapsed into a deep and fitful sleep, not hearing the quiet pop as the man disappeared again before his absence could be noted back at what was left of her neighborhood. Or, equally as problematic, if his presence were discovered at these particular gates.


	2. Chapter 2

Cht. 2, Awakening

Only moments after the blonde wizard left her side, Leda was wrapped in scratchy wool and hoisted into the arms of a dark figure who smelled of musty herbs and tea. The only thing she noticed at the moment however, was the warmth and a deep rumbling voice questioning, "what in blazes was he thinking by bringing an ailing Muggle here of all places?"

"Muggle?" she wondered blearily. It was the last coherent thought she had before blackness overtook her and her head dropped below the crook of the arm that held her, so that she did not hear the volley of swearing that elicited from her savior as he unsuccessfully tried to open a pair of great oak doors and keep from dropping her at the same time.

"_Locomotor corpus_," said the dark man, giving up his grip at last and moving her levitating form through a great stone hallway and up a set of stairs. As he guided her form through another doorway into a room lined with beds, a bustling woman came rushing to help. He set the girl down on the last bed in the row, farthest from the door.

"Headmaster?" the woman said as she wrapped the near frozen girl into the sheets and cast a thermal charm over her, effectively cocooning her in a thawing warmth. "Where did she come from? Is she--"

"I believe her to be a Muggle."

"But-- a Muggle? Here at Hogwarts?"

"Yes."

"Headmaster, this woman is gravely ill. Wherever did you find her?"

"At the gates, oddly enough."

"She should be in hospital--St. Mungo's--"

"St. Mungo's, I believe, would not be a wise choice. She mumbled something about Death Eaters before she blacked out. I do not think it would be in her best interest to send her to St. Mungo's where she may let slip to the wrong person who it was attacked her if she saw or heard too much."

The woman looked aghast at the headmaster, as if she were wondering whether he was trying to keep himself from being incriminated. But she said nothing of it. As if reading her thoughts, however, he spoke up.

"Were she a victim of anything untoward I had done, I should hardly bring her here. Rather, if I were the unrepentant bastard most everyone believes me to be, I would have left her as she was or killed her outright and disposed of her somewhere. Surely I wouldn't want her to live."

Choosing not to reply to this, the woman asked, "perhaps a Muggle hospital then?"

"Too many awkward questions about how she came to be there. I have no idea what Obliviation would do to her in the state she's in. Granted, they may think she's delirious, but she would likely keep her conviction once she's better and then it would still lead to unnecessary complications. Simply care for her as best you can, Madame Pomfrey if you would, and I will see to returning her where she belongs safely when she can travel again."

"What about the Carrows?"

"Keep your privacy screens up and if anyone asks, especially the Carrows, simply tell them it's a case of dragon pox that you're keeping quarantined as you've been unable to contact the parents thus far. If they get too inquisitive send them to me."

"Yes, Headmaster."

With that, he swept out of the room, closing the doors swiftly behind him. She watched him only a moment, questioningly, before returning to her newest patient. Sweeping her wand in an arc, the lady summoned a set of screens around the bed and tutted sympathetically as the girl on the bed shook with rattled coughs. Heaving a deep breath and kissing the idea of a good night's sleep good-bye, the nurse began taking bottles from a cupboard nearby and spooned a few teaspoonfuls down the throat of the fevered woman.

Leda spent the first two days writhing in delirium. When her fever finally broke, thanks to the analgesic potions she had imbibed in her moments of lucidity, she found herself beset with the ministrations of a mother hen who looked like a nineteenth century nursemaid. She took any number of concoctions once she was able to sit up properly--antibiotic draughts that tasted strongly of garlic, more analgesics, and a thick syrupy liquid that purged the fluids from her system so strongly that the woman stood over her issuing commands via the wand. "_Exspue_," she would say, as Leda coughed up sputum into a bucket propped on her lap. After a day or so of this her very lungs ached and she felt as though she had been thoroughly wrung out. Finally, after four days in the hospital wing of what appeared to be a great castle, Madame Pomfrey, as the nurse was called, declared her fit to leave that evening, setting aside two bottles of a liquid called Pepper-Up Potion, which she prescribed to Leda for the next week.

After checking the hallways and staircases outside, which had quieted down merely an hour before, she quickly ushered Leda, now wrapped in a comfy robe, through the corridors to a huge statue of a phoenix. "Dumbledore," said Pomfrey, ushering Leda up a spiraling staircase. Leda turned to look at the woman, who simply waved her through.

She entered a room at the top of the stairs that simply stole her breath. She had not seen any of the castle other than the hospital room, and only a brief glimpse as she padded through the halls to the office where she now found herself. This room though was full of bits and bobs, gadgets she could not begin to identify, shelf after shelf of books and above it all, lined around with moving portraits that looked at her as if she were the novelty. The man seated at the desk she recognized at once, despite never having seen his face. He looked back at her through dark eyes obscured by a hank of limp black hair and was dressed, from what she could see, ankle to chin in course black wool. This then was her second savior, as she considered him.

"So, you're doing better at last," he said, the voice matching the one she had heard before she passed out. "Please, take a seat." He gestured toward a pair of chairs in front of the desk.

"Yes, I want to thank you so much for the rescue--"

"No matter," he cut in with a shrug and a nearly passive expression. "I could hardly have left you there."

"Yes, but thanks nonetheless."

"You're quite welcome," was the awkward reply.

_Someone is not well socialized_, Leda thought.

"So this is a school then--" she began.

"About the man who brought you--" he interjected. "Yes, it is as it happens. The important thing however is that I understand precisely how you came to be here. I want you to understand that our very existence here is a very closely guarded secret which has been breached by your being here."

"You all can do magic, can't you? That's what this place is."

The wizard, for it was now apparent what he was, inclined his head acknowledging her statement. "At this school, we instruct students in the proper methods and uses of magic. However, as I mentioned, people of your background are not typically aware of us as a rule. Therefore, the man who brought you to our very gates took an extremely dangerous risk in the exposure of our world."

"What would happen to him if he were caught?"

"Likely he would be imprisoned and fined. At best. At worse, his wand would be broken and he would be sent out to live in your world--with no idea how to begin it. It would roughly be viewed as treason, in which case the typical penalty would be exile."

"I rather think he has no compunction about operating outside the law," she said lowly, "but the fact of the matter is that had he not brought me here, I might have done. I would have done if I had been left in the street, or--or taken with the other girls."

She shuddered out a gasp as the rest of that night surfaced in her memories.

"Taken?" the headmaster cut in to her thoughts, "taken where exactly?"

"I--I'm not sure," she stammered. "There was another man there, lots of men actually, but the one named Rowle or Rowel said to line me up with the others. There were other women, girls some of them, who were to be taken. Rowle… I think we were to be--that is, he…"

She found herself unable to continue, yet as she met the wizard's eyes over the desk visions of that night came flooding back with absolute clarity. She heard the screams, saw her neighbors huddling together or floating overhead, nearly felt the hands of her tormentor, rough and groping, then the warm embrace of her rescuer, gentler if a bit stiff and formal. When she came at last to the bit where she passed out, her surroundings came into focus again and she clutched the arms of the chair.

"The man who brought you here," the wizard began slowly, "cast a spell on your arrival…" he trailed off as if he did not know how to ask the question.

"It was a mongoose, a glowing silver mongoose. Was it a signal of sorts?"

"Malfoy sent her here?" prompted a voice from overhead. Leda glanced up, surprised to see a portrait peering down at her interestedly, the image of an old man with long flowing beard and wire-rimmed spectacles dangling perilously from the tip of his nose. "This is an interesting development. What did this man look like, my dear?"

Largely disconcerted at being addressed by a painting, Leda stammered, "he-he was blond, very pale. That's about all I could see really, he had a mask you see, but his hood and robe was gone. The others were still wearing theirs."

"Pale blonde, you say," muttered the portrait thoughtfully.

"Sorry, but who is he? Mr. Malfoy, you called him. You know who he is? Is he a spy of some sort?" Her mind raced, trying to piece the puzzle together. He had been dressed as the others, even killed a man after questioning him, but yet there were things that did not make sense. If he were like them, why tell Mr. Wilkes that he didn't want to kill him. "If you don't tell me, I'll be forced to kill you," he had said. Forced? And why save her? So many questions ran through her mind that she did not know what to ask first. Finally, she blurted out the first thing she thought of, "what's a mud blood?"

"You, as it happens," said a voice just barely loud enough to be audible. She craned her head around to face yet another portrait, this time of a flinty man with a pointed beard who was apparently picking lint and idly brushing his clothing before sparing her a glance.

"Er, thank you Phineas. It is a rather nasty name for someone who cannot do magic," the headmaster replied tersely, sparing a disdainful glance at the picture over Leda's shoulder. "The correct term is Muggle."

"That's what you called me when you picked me up."

"Yes," he replied, eyes glittering with speculation. "Now…did this blond wizard actually speak to you? Are you certain you had never seen him before?"

"No, he said nothing. And I've never seen a man with hair like that in my life. It was nearly white and so long… I didn't recognize his voice either and his eyes… were almost as cold as the air itself."

"His eyes?" said the old wizard's portrait above their heads.

"Yes, they were an icy blue. Quite clear, nearly gray."

"Did anything else strike you about him?"

Leda thought of the well-muscled chest, the shiny boots. "His boots, or rather his appearance altogether. He was immaculate."

"That's Lucius to the hilt," snarked the portrait behind her.

"Lucius? Like the Roman emperor," she said, looking at the headmaster. He looked slightly discomfited that she had learned so much.

"Well, the only other thing, I suppose the main reason they were there, was the Dursley's," she managed. The headmaster barely glanced up at her from his reverie, while the portraits all seemed to tense and lean forward at this nugget of information.

"He was questioning a neighbor of mine for their whereabouts," she continued tensely, calling up the memory. "Of course, he didn't know where they were--none of us do…did--but when Mr. Wilkes said so, he--he k-killed him." Her voice breaking at last, she took a breath before continuing on. "One of the others said they were taking the women so the night wouldn't be a complete loss."

"They wrecked our homes," she said after taking a steadying breath. "They killed innocent people and they kidnapped young girls and they destroyed our homes!"

"I have nothing to go back to," she ended morosely, as the knowledge set in.

"Have you no family?" the headmaster questioned dispassionately.

"No, I have an elderly aunt but she's in a home. I check in on her occasionally." She sighed wearily. "I shall have to return to work immediately," she reasoned, "everyone is surely wondering where I am. I'm sure there was a write-up; I'd be listed as missing, wouldn't I?"

"Most likely. There would have been some story put out as soon as the proper officials took care of the situation. And likely there would be a search for those missing in the aftermath. However, I do not think it in your best interest to return, at least not just yet."

"But why?" she began to argue.

"Madam do think," he said tersely, "if you were to return now, even after the attack, as one of the missing they would surely want to know what had happened to you and where you had been. You know just enough to be endangered for knowing entirely too much. You have names, descriptions, you know what they were after--all of which would put your life at risk yet again. Not to mention incriminating evidence against the man who came to your aid, all of which make it fairly poor payment to him for saving your life. That either you would be killed or he would be imprisoned or exiled. Do think about your situation."

"But where am I to go if I cannot go home?"

"She will certainly have to be kept safe, Severus," reasoned the old wizard's portrait. Severus simply raised a hand in acknowledgement.

"I know of a place that should do, but you must not leave the premises for any reason," he said slowly. "Is that understood?"

Leda nodded, seeing no other alternative. "Yes, thank you for troubling yourself and for saving me in the first place."

"Think nothing of it," thought Severus, taking a deep breath. _No one else seems to_, he thought.

"And… if you see this man, Malfoy, for I can't help but think you know him. Could you somehow, find a way… that is… could you thank him for me?"

"I shall see what I can do, though I make you no promises. Now, if you're quite ready, I have some clothing I've secured for you that should do for getting on with. If you'd like, I can return you to the hospital wing. You can change there and then we shall slip down to those gates again, so I can apparate you away from here. We must go carefully, so that we will not be seen."

She followed Severus back to the hospital wing, amazed at how swiftly and silently he moved through the darkened corridors. She clutched the clothing and satchel he had given her closely as she stepped into the privacy screens and began to change. There was a pair of jeans in the pile, plus undergarments and a purple jumper, plus some woolen socks and a pair of hiking boots. She slid into the knickers and bra, both of which were a little snug, then the trousers, which were a bit big. Luckily the socks and jumper fit, if the shoes were a bit tight. But in light of the fact that she still only had a nightgown and hospital dressing robe to her name, she deemed the outfit well enough to be getting on with.

Leda stepped out from behind the screens and started when she saw the coat Severus held out to her. It was Mr. Malfoy's, she knew. The very same that he had placed around her the night she was brought to the gates. She looked wonderingly at Severus.

"I was unable to find you a coat in the Room--in the lost and found--but this should do." Then, reading her accurately he continued, "he has others, he won't need it." As if to reinforce the point that time was of the essence, he held out the coat and shook it in front of her.

Never taking her eyes off Severus' face, Leda gently took the proffered garment and shrugged it on, noticing for the first time the scent that enveloped it. It was purely masculine and tantalizing, with woodsy green notes mingled with a sensual musky fragrance that said simply _man_. Leda inhaled deeply, as surreptitiously as possibly while the followed Severus through the dark, silent halls and out the front door. Wrapped warmly in the coat, she ventured back through the cold that now could not touch her and clasped the two bottles she had tucked in the pockets before leaving.

Having no clear where she was going or what fate held down this darkened path, Leda still felt safe somehow, knowing that at least two men in this strange world could be trusted.

---------------------------------------

_A/N: Yes, this is Lucius-centric, I swear. Give it a bit._

_I have a tendency to equate potions somewhat with herbalism and herbal medicine, hence the garlicky taste to the antibiotic. Garlic is a natural antibiotic. Just a little fyi._

_Exspue = expectorate_


	3. Chapter 3

Cht. 3, Rising

Lucius Malfoy was quite an altruistic man, if he did say so himself. It had been bred into him by his own father, Abraxas, and he liked to think that he continued the family legacy of doing any amount of philanthropy for a truly worthy cause. When need be, the Malfoy patriarch could use any amount of leverage to further said cause as well. His fervent wish that all suitable children should be well educated led him to serve on the board of governors at Hogwarts School, and at the elder Mr. Malfoy's passing, he took the helm of St. Mungo's board as well to ensure that proper care was taken in administering medicine to those who needed it most. He felt surely that more could have been done to save his own father, for example, given everything the man had done for the community.

Despite these sentiments, he could not for the life of him comprehend what exactly had taken place barely a month prior. Saving a Muggle, of all people? What would the old man think? As a breed, Muggles simply did not bear consideration. They were the antithesis to all that was good and proper in society. Surely, if nature dictates that wizards have both magic and sentient intelligence--not to mention opposable thumbs--then they must be the superior race. With Muggles it amazed him that they even had the latter.

Yet even as a smile flitted across his features at the thought, it promptly flew away on the wind as he remembered once again the look of the girl he had saved. She looked... shattered, there was nothing else for it. And beautiful. He stopped in the path even as he tried to stop that train of thought. But no, having considered he may as well admit the truth of it, he thought that yes, even for a Muggle she was achingly, hauntingly beautiful with those big dark eyes. He could appreciate beauty in all aspects of nature, even in a lesser being, as one would a deer in the forest. And that deer, that night, had looked haunted, hunted, and trapped. _Gods above_, he thought, _what is to come of this? Next I'll be vegetarian_. He plodded along, up the hill, and pondered. That shattered look, the pale beauty must have been what had done it. Along with the thought of Rowle putting his hands on her in such a weakened state. _Lecherous creature_, he surmised, thinking of the blonde pockmarked goon as he kicked a small stone on his way to the doors. _How did the Dark Lord tolerate his penchant for torturing Muggle women?_

Beastly occupation that was. He could never for the life of him understand the compunction to show power through that kind of perversity. Some forms of Muggle baiting could be quite entertaining actually, take the Quidditch World Cup for example. A cracking bout of frivolity that was, all in good fun really, but rape? Gods above, what if one of them got with child? And lived? Such a risky business undermined the entire point of their movement. Muggle breeding, as a rule, was a most unfit operation, but Death Eaters themselves--above all--should not contribute by populating the world with half-blood bastards. It was another fervent wish of Lucius' to elevate the aims of his brothers at arms thus, and steer them away from such tomfoolery. Let the Mudbloods muddle along, die out as a race through their sheer foolishness as evolution took its course, but at all ends keep the wizarding race pure and strong. What a tragic waste, copulating with the lowest species.

He thought of the man waiting upstairs in his study and wondered again what it was about Muggle women that could compel one so. There was a time, in fact, when he had thought one of his oldest friends had been stricken dumb and blind in love with one of them. For some time, that suspicion had lain dormant, until the night he saved the redhead. In that instance, this friend was the one person he could think of who was least likely to kill the girl outright. As he walked up the stairs and entered the study, he tucked the thoughts away and stuck out his hand when Headmaster Snape rose to greet him.

"Severus," he said smiling crookedly, "how well the mitre of office sits upon you, my friend."

"Lucius," said his taciturn friend, inclining his head.

"Dumbledore," said Lucius as he noticing the portrait above them open one bleary eye as he feigned sleep, "you're looking quite better than when I saw you last."

"Charming as ever, Lucius," grumbled the picture sleepily.

"So, Lucius, what brings you out of house arrest in your gilded cage to our humble castle?" questioned Severus.

That was the damnable thing about Snape, he always could zero in on the uncomfortable aspects of one's existence. It was one of the things that always made him suspect Severus was a more accomplished Legilimens than he let on. Ignoring this, and knowing that it would let on exactly how uncomfortable he felt, Lucius refused to let his complacent smile slip.

"As it happens, the Dark Lord wishes to convey how happy he is with your service at this most distinguished post. And in doing so, he is currently working a way through the Ministry to allow wrongdoers here to be tried as adults and sent to Azkaban. Namely that Longbottom boy and the Weasley girl."

Snapes face gave a barely noticeable twitch.

"Does he think my and the Carrows' punishments do not suffice? Does he believe us tenderhearted?" he asked smirking.

"By no means," replied Lucius. "I rather think it is meant as a reward for your diligence in having to deal with the little blighters."

"Yes, speaking of blights and Muggle sympathies, your charge wished me to thank you for your own diligence."

"My charge?" Lucius shifted in his seat, trying to gauge Severus' intentions. He glanced up to see Dumbledore, who promptly started snoring softly.

"I did pick up a Muggle from these gates, not a month hence after receiving your Patronus, which urged me to make haste. I do confess myself surprised at your actions."

"Did you question her?"

"There was no need. Indeed, a litany of your heroic actions practically spilled from her lips," Snape said wryly.

"Honestly, Severus, your humor amazes me at times. What did she know about the Dursleys' whereabouts?"

"Nothing."

"I had thought she might. Though I must say, she was hardly in a fit state to be questioned at the time. I assumed that you would be able to bring her around. It seems I assumed correctly. Well done."

"Yes, it is a shame she saw and heard so much." Severus said, his eyes glittering ominously. "She could never be permitted to go, having had such incriminating evidence against you, Rowle, and the others."

Lucius heart lodged in the pit of his belly and he swore to himself it was because of the dangers to himself and his cohorts if she talked to the wrong people.

"So," he said trying to look unconcerned. "What did you do with her?"

"Trust me when I say, old friend, that she is of no consequence anymore," replied Severus, letting the implication hang.

Lucius blanched visibly and leaned forward, "I'm sure that was not necessary, Severus. She wouldnt be aware of the proper authorities to go to and truly, what Muggles would believe the tale if she told it? They would think her quite unhinged."

"What touching concern for a Muggle," Severus said, a grim smile spreading slowly. "Have you gone soft, Lucius? What would the Dark Lord think?"

"The Dark Lord need know nothing," he began, before realizing his mistake and cursing softly.

"Indeed, I agree," said Severus, nodding. "She is perfectly harmless, and quite safe from Rowle's attentions. I have her closeted away at my home in Newcastle. Should anything happen to me, you will know where to find her again. Perhaps she will even have the chance to thank you properly."

His smile turned smug as Lucius relaxed somewhat, though still watching him warily.

"I always knew you had a soft spot for redheads, Severus," said Malfoy, his own smile returning even as Severus slipped from his visage.

"I don't know what you mean by that, Lucius."

"No, of course. You forget, I was your prefect."

"I forget nothing."

"Then you remember time and again that I caught you after hours sneaking off to meet with the Evans girl."

"She was a neighbor of mine. And someone I happened to tutor in potions."

"After curfew, Severus? What dedication."

"Water under the bridge. Besides if I do have a 'thing for redheads' as you so succinctly put it, I am surely not the only one. For you saved that girl as surely as Rowle would have raped and killed her. Without a second thought or any reservation at all."

"I had plenty of reservations," he said at length. "Of getting caught, of what in the world I was doing and why, and of sending her here of all places. Even now, Severus, I question my own sanity."

"Welcome to my world," said Severus, rising and striding over to the liquor cabinet housed behind a large Sneakoscope. He retrieved two glasses and a bottle of Drambuie before taking his seat and pouring two fingers into each glass and offering the first to Lucius.

"Shall I propose a toast?" he said, lifting his into the air and raising a brow.

"What to?" questioned Lucius, taking his warily.

"To enlightenment and illumination."


	4. Chapter 4

_And here, my friends, is where we take an abrupt departure from Deathly Hallows. No offense to anyone who loved that book, but it sucked. Snape dying, Malfoy essentially being emasculated and straddling the fence, all a little too unbelievable to me. Hence my foray into fan fics in the first place. Here goes…_

**Cht. 4, The Tide Turns**

Months later, Lucius stood gazing out at the pitch dark expanse of the Hogwarts grounds, a snifter of brandy in his hand.

"What arrogance, Severus. What arrogance we had in thinking that we could make such drastic changes to the world with that _maniac _at the helm."

Snape said nothing, merely tipped the brooding man a glance over his own snifter as he swirled the amber brew.

"You know, the longer he stays in my home-the longer he eats my food, swills my liquor, forces me to give houseroom to all and sundry, and laughs at my expense-the more I want to do something… _drastic_. I want to see him impaled upon his own sword for merely thinking that he could lower the Malfoy family in anyone's eyes. My old and distinguished line is a sodding _joke _to that lot now."

"…and Cissy has left," he said, lowering his glass to the window ledge and finally turning to face his old school mate. "We had a big row last night, said the most unforgivable things to each other. She had lost faith in me, in my being leader of the family, in being able to save our dying culture, in being a man at all, it seems. At any rate, she has an old school friend in Loire. I believe she may be there."

"Do you know," he mused, as he crossed back to the chair he had vacated earlier, leaving the glass forgotten on the sill. "I have no desire to find her. I find it amazing to believe, still, that this woman who has shared every aspect of my life all these years, who pledged for better or worse, will turn tail and run at this juncture. When I am at my lowest, she should be there, should she not?"

Snape merely raised a brow at this obviously rhetorical quandary, but ached to turn and see what Dumbledore's portrait was doing at the moment. Surely despite his feigned sleep, he had heard these revelations. Severus, instead, merely took another sip of brandy and let his friend vent his anger.

"With all the trials we have faced before," he continued unabated, "not merely ourselves, but in the long line of my family, one thing remains. Malfoys. Always. Remain. On top," he ground out, each of his words punctuated by a frustrated _thunk _of his cane on the stone floor.

"Yet what I find even more amazing, is that this paragon of pureblood sanctity, this champion of our cause, had the audacity to put my only son-my progeny and only living heir-on a suicide mission. Where was his concern for the preservation of our culture then? I'd like to stretch my hands round his scaly neck and throttle him. For that, and for leaving me in that stinking pit of a prison for so long."

Snape watched Lucius unclench the fists he had balled up after choking an imaginary Dark Lord, and he spoke for the first time since offering a glass to his clearly agitated friend.

"So why don't you do something about him?" he said, sitting up and placing his arms on the desk.

"Such as?"

****

The next day found Lucius Malfoy striding down Diagon Alley on the pretense of visiting his solicitor to start the process for a divorce decree. His first stop, however, was Gringott's, ostensibly to set up a separate vault for maintenance of one ex-wife. Once done, however, he made one more request.

"I should like to visit my sister-in-law's vault as well. As I understand, I am still thr authorized signer for her account at present."

Several moments and one wild ride later, a very windblown Lucius held up his prize in one gloved hand. A small, two-handled cup engraved with the emblem of Hufflepuff, and on the bottom, a tiny eagle. He quickly pocketed the cup and left the vault, casting only the smallest glance at the goblin who deferentially kept his eyes averted.

"Take us back up," he commanded.

****

Meanwhile, several kilometers away, Leda drug an ancient carpet steamer back and forth over even older mustard yellow shag carpeting. Why the man had never updated this place was beyond her. She had lasted nearly a week before her skin was fairly crawling in the musty old house. It was all too clear that he left it shut up for most of the year and barely bothered to do any real cleaning in the place otherwise.

So, with a determined resolve to at least remove a decade's worth of grime from the house, Leda began with the idea of tackling a room a day. She quickly revised that timetable to a room every two days, and spent nearly two weeks on the task.

Finally, Leda was satisfied that she had removed every layer of filth that had settled since the days of Snape's childhood. In fact, she thought as she caught a glimpse of her grimy disheveled self in the bathroom, it may not have been cleaned thoroughly even then. Surely he had to learn his cleanliness habits somewhere. In her experience, such things were almost always environmental rather than natural.

Not that she had much experience with child therapy, she mused, but adults, once you got into their minds, had issues very much like that of children. And almost everything went back to childhood. She had delved into enough adult minds to know this. Shaking her head disgustedly at the image before her, she turned the now gleaming taps in the shower onto full blast and sighed as the last remaining traces of dirt ran down the drain. If she was lucky, he might not take her scouring his home from top to bottom as a personal slight. On second thought, when he saw his wardrobe, he may very well be at least a little insulted. She smiled a little smugly at the fact that all his whites had been bleached so again, as opposed to the dingy gray they were when she unearthed them.

Chuckling now as she tried to picture his face upon his return, Leda finished toweling off and walked nude through the house to the room she had taken as hers. She had no problem being naked in Snape's house; he never visited, and the only company she had, other than the telly, was a house elf who came once a week to take down a list of what she needed and return to her with the supplies. Her life had certainly taken a strange turn since that dreaded night, and she had learned loads about this magical world since her other hobby now was perusing Snape's expansive book collection.

In fact, she now considered herself knowledgeable about the inner world of dark wizards and, most especially Death Eaters. After reading any number of texts about the dark arts, dark wizards in history, including the infamous Gellert Grindelwald, and-she could at least admit this to herself-a detailed account in a diary from his teenage years of Severus Snape's life leading up to joining the Death Eaters. Though he had never admitted such, she knew he must have joined, by the way he discussed their power and a sort of prestigious aura they had.

It read like any number of case studies from gang members, from the type of lives they had before they joined to the seductive pull of that type of group. The sense of belonging that it gave, coupled with power that most of them had never enjoyed before. Plenty of the passage reeked of the heady draw of their faction and all it promised to its members. It was clear that the Death Eaters believed themselves the elite of the wizarding world; this idea was marked by Severus relating in detail some of the conversations he had had with his own prefect, a lad who Severus very obviously admired. His stories of his friend's prowess on the "Quidditch" field and in the classroom, his exploits with girls, and his unspoken of, but often hinted at membership in this secretive group all belied a serious case of hero worship on Severus' part.

And the subject of this was one Lucius Malfoy. The very name that she remembered from her meeting with Severus, which she could never forget. The man she had yet to thank for saving her life had years ago been a vehement supporter of the mass genocide of her own race. Why then, she wondered, did he bother to save her? What had changed in him? Did he still espouse the eradication of her kind? As she woke almost nightly from the same dreams tormenting her mind, that same thought wracked her brain. Why her?

Time and again she curled around her pillow, scrunching her face up to try to rid herself of the image of that masked face and steel colored eyes and fell asleep still not knowing the answer.


End file.
